


Normal Curious

by Pixxit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-20
Updated: 2007-09-20
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxit/pseuds/Pixxit
Summary: Kirihara is desperate for advice.  Even if it's very bad advice.





	Normal Curious

 

It all started innocently enough. He hadn't thought much of it, to be quite honest. He was a teenaged boy and teenaged boys had certain…appetites. There was no reason to analyze oneself into stuttering depression merely because one had a rather overzealous preoccupation with one's own body.

At least, that's what Akaya had begun to tell himself on a fairly regular basis. He'd also begun to wonder if and when he would ever actually believe the lies he fed himself. Either way, he figured the lying was good practice.

He shifted, arms reaching overhead to touch fingertips to the wall even as he stretched his toes in the opposite direction. Another six months would see him too long for his bed and while he accepted this knowledge with a modicum of restless anticipation, he couldn't help feeling just the tiniest bit sad that he was very near to leaving his childhood behind.

Spine arched, belly concave, he turned his head aside – away from the window – and licked his lips in absent preparation for what he was about to do. It was early, though the sun had risen hours ago, and Akaya glanced quickly at his bedside clock even as his fingers eased beneath the waistband of his pajama pants and then his underwear.

It wasn't quite ten-thirty; his mother wouldn't bother rousing him until at least eleven. He was safe – he was _alone_.

Innocent as it always began, Akaya closed his eyes, breathed slow and deep and even. Already, he could picture her: long dark hair – no highlights, no curls – pretty, pink lips. Her jaw was feminine, but not weak and her neck was graceful. Never one to waste precious time, however, he quickly moved on to take in her high-buttoned shirt. Pristine and pure in its severity, Akaya exhaled softly when his dream girl touched the green ribbon at her throat – wanting so to tug it free, he knew, but not quite daring enough and he _loved_ that about her.

Pressed, neat shirttails tucked into her modest, knee-length skirt, Akaya liked that the plaid pattern matched the ribbon at her neck. Head still turned, he muffled the whimper he might have given voice to against the edge of his pillow and curled his fingers around his cock. The elastic of his pants rubbed the back of his hand when he stroked himself and he waited, knowing that the fantasy could now begin in earnest.

He didn't, as it turned out, have to wait very long. When he slid his feet up along the sheets to bend his legs at the knee, he spread them wider, let his fingertips graze his balls and his dream girl was no longer alone.

Yanagi Renji considered her – the way he considered everything that caught his attention – and after only a moment, he touched her. He touched her face, her throat, tugged gently at the sweet bow at her neck and Akaya bit his lip when she linked her hands behind her back. Untied now, Yanagi did not remove the ribbon and when he freed the top two buttons of her shirt, the edges of the green silk lay against the hollow of her throat. One by one he unfastened the buttons of her shirt, tugging it free of her waistband and letting the fabric part indecently. Akaya groaned, cupping his balls in one hand while he valiantly attempted to slow the other – the desire to strip off his pants, spread his legs wide and jerk himself furiously was great. He'd learned, however, that the longer he was able to draw it out, the more intense his orgasm would be.

His girl wore nothing beneath her crisp, prim shirt and when Yanagi pushed the fabric aside to completely bare her breasts, Akaya grunted and tightened his grip. Yanagi didn't grab her as Akaya surely would have done in that same situation and, instead, seemed to study her intently when he brushed his thumbs across her small, pink nipples. The girl gasped, _Akaya_ gasped, and Yanagi cupped her breasts in both his hands, squeezing only marginally when he thumbed her nipples her again.

Arching into his own grasp, Akaya's hips cleared the mattress and he squeezed his eyes closed tight, determined to remain as silent as he could manage. It was embarrassing enough that he couldn't seem to keep his hands out of his pants, having it become common knowledge to the rest of his family was not a possibility he wished to entertain.

Yanagi, on the other hand, seemed to possess no shame at all and why should he when he, unlike Akaya, could actually claim a partner? Even when that partner seemed only to exist inside Akaya's most lurid sexually-driven fantasies. He bent his head to her, nuzzling her breasts and brushing his lips across her nipples and when he slid one hand beneath her skirt and sucked one nipple between his lips, Akaya tensed, made some small, choking sound, and came –unexpectedly – hard and damp with both hands shoved completely into his pants.

Panting as he flopped back against his tangled bedcovers, Akaya grimaced and wiped his hand on his pants, straightening his underwear beneath. He shivered, over-stimulated when his cock brushed the dry fabric of his boxer shorts and stretched languidly again. The morning sun's rays slanted across his bed and he luxuriated in the warmth they afforded him. Akaya loved Saturdays. Particularly those Saturdays when there was no practice to attend and no chores to do and no games to make ready for. No practice and no games, however, put him immediately in mind of Yanagi-senpai and he very quickly pushed those thoughts away.

His sister banged at his door – 'get your ass out of bed if you want a ride to the mall, you lazy little pervert' – and Akaya flipped her off, feeling brave and all the more satisfied that she couldn't see him doing it.

He glanced at the clock again. Ten thirty-seven.

He didn't let himself dwell on the knowledge that – in each of his fantasies – he'd never seen his dream girl's eyes. Even now she was merely a means to an end and it bothered him to think on it overmuch. There was no ignoring the fact, however, that every aspect of Yanagi's physical presence was as vivid as if he'd been standing directly before him. Touching him. Being touched in return.

Akaya wondered how Yanagi's kisses felt and was immediately suffused with a slow, hot blush, despite his solitude.

He told himself that he was only curious because he felt he could stand a few lessons on the subject if he ever planned to touch a girl the way Yanagi-senpai had touched the girl in his fantasy.

It was only curiosity – only _normal_ curiosity – and that was all.

He was lying to himself again. But at least he was getting some good practice in.

 

\+ + +

 

He barely spoke two words to his bitch of a sister on the way to the mall. Not that the opportunity had presented itself in any regard, as she was quite fond of blasting the horrific pop music she favored at near ear-splitting decibels.

She'd pulled up at the curb – Akaya had wondered if he'd be expected to just tuck and roll and hope for the best – and had barely spared him a glance when she'd jerked her thumb toward the door to indicate that he needed to move his ass.

He slammed the door when he got out and pretended not to hear her yelling over her beloved Jin's warbling. _The pansy_. To her credit, she didn't screech her tires when she pulled away from the curb, but Akaya would have been willing to bet that she wanted to.

Shouldering his bag, he set off toward the entrance and wondered how long she'd actually leave him stranded before she bothered to come and pick him up. Once inside, he supposed it didn't matter since he barely had enough money to eat and could easily spend all day reading the comics he couldn't afford to actually buy.

He passed food stands, clothing stores with annoying music blasting, high-school boys who hung in packs and bleached their hair and spoke broken English. He passed group after group of hyper, bouncy girls who pretended not to notice him, but who always broke out into collective giggles when he passed them by.

Akaya rolled his eyes and didn't look back. He supposed that – if he were with one of his senpai – it might have been necessary for him to express some manner of interest in the girls, but on his own as he was, he didn't have to fake it. As he was, there was simply no way he was ready to approach a girl on his own and with the daring few who attempted to approach him first, he could hardly handle the interaction with any of the ease and cool demeanor that Niou or Marui might have.

Feigning disinterest was the very best way to avoid supreme humiliation. 'Take the offensive, son,' his father always told him. 'The best defense is a good offense'. Spoken offhand when Akaya had been seven or eight years old and had somehow become the class bully's main target, those words had sunk in and they'd stuck. Of course, his father had probably not intended that Akaya walk up to the boy one morning and punch him in the face, but that was precisely what Akaya had done. And no one had made a target of him since.

Ducking into the game store, Akaya shoved both hands into his pockets and hoped that he didn't look as aimless and as broke as he truly was. The store clerks here were much more apt to let him hog the demo console for hours on end if they thought he might actually purchase one. His spirits plummeted, though, when he noticed the multiple rows of brand new, colorful, _beautiful_ game boxes. The newest Tekken had been released – and Akaya hadn't enough for more than a couple of beef bowls and a soda. Frowning, he pressed one hand to the display window and leaned in until his forehead bumped the glass. It just figured that his favorite game in the world would release a new title the weekend after Akaya's allowance had been curtailed. Like it was his fault that somebody – that Akaya might or might not know – had decided to tape condoms all over the neighbor's car while Akaya's parents had been out. That he'd been home alone and the likely suspect was certainly not indicative of guilt. At least, that's what Akaya had offered in his own defense.

It hadn't mattered, though. In the end, he'd received a stern lecture from his parents, had been forced to clean and detail the neighbor's car and had lost his allowance for a month. Akaya continued to maintain his innocence, but nobody wanted to hear it any longer. In any event, the new Tekken was out and it would be weeks before he'd saved up enough to buy it.

Sighing heavily, he pushed away from the glass and struck out in the direction of the comic shop. Hanging around in the game store and drooling over the kick-ass graphics and _unbelievably cool combos_ would only serve to make him feel worse. He wasn't going to torture himself.

As familiar as he was with the store's layout, Akaya did not dally, once inside. Making a bee-line for his favorite spot – between the roleplaying guides and the really tacky sci-fi serials – he swung his backpack onto the floor, propped himself up against it and began to peruse the bottom shelf for something new and good. There was nothing, of course, but it sure as hell beat laying around at home while his mother yelled at him to take the garbage out and his father asked if there wasn't any studying he could be doing.

He smiled, shoving back against his bag and flipping through a super-hero comic that he'd read at least twice before, and was glad that he'd spotted that nice, young clerk at the counter versus the old man who liked to shake his fist at Akaya and demand that he buy something or get out. The young guy smiled a lot and sometimes stopped to talk to Akaya about what he was reading while he straightened and shelved new books.

After a while, though, when he'd read everything that interested him, his stomach growled and he remembered that he'd had to forego breakfast because his sister was a mean-spirited hag.

He shelved his books – something he always did when the young guy was working – and swiped up his bag again. Feeling guilty for taking up space and not buying anything, he stopped at the counter to chat with the clerk for a moment.

He had red-streaked hair and a little goatee. He wore a double-skull earring in his left ear and several multi-colored hoops laddered up the cartilage of the right. He grinned lazily at Akaya and leaned against the counter and Akaya wondered why his neck was suddenly so hot.

"Nothing good today, eh?"

Akaya shrugged. "Kinda. Mainly I'm just really broke."

The clerk laughed and straightened the rack of bookmarks on the counter. "I remember high school. I never had any money, either. What money I managed to con out of my parents, I spent at the arcade."

The arcade. _Now_ he was speaking Akaya's language.

"Yeah, me too. But I can't even afford that right now."

The clerk glanced at his watch quickly and Akaya wondered if he was about to break for lunch, too. The prospect of hanging out with an older guy – and maybe inadvertently obtaining a little helpful, manly wisdom – was suddenly quite appealing and Akaya gave up on the idea of checking out the food stands in the hopes that he might see a friend from school. He didn't like eating alone; Marui had said once that only lepers ate alone in a public place. Akaya didn't want to be a leper.

"Hey," he said. "You going to lunch?"

The clerk nodded and reached behind him to untie the smock he wore. "Yeah. Soon as the next shift comes in."

Akaya curled his toes inside his sneakers and shrugged, trying for casual. "You want some company?"

For a moment, the guy regarded Akaya, and when he smiled – slow, lazy, knowing – he reached over the counter to ruffle Akaya's wayward curls. "I don't think so, heartbreaker. I like 'em a little older, you know?"

Eyes wide, jaw hanging open, Akaya tried to ignore the way the man's fingers had felt against his scalp in an attempt to find some measure of protestation. The clerk thought that…that he'd…

Unable to find words to defend himself, Akaya stood – slack-jawed still – as the clerk edged around the counter and waved to a pretty, college-aged girl who wore the same sort of smock that the clerk had just taken off.

Akaya frowned. Great. Now some dude thought he'd been trying to put the moves on him _and_ he was straight. But then, Akaya was straight, too, but nobody seemed interested in hearing that bit of information- least of all the guy who'd just patted him on the head and summarily dismissed him.

He turned, half-way to the front entrance and winked at Akaya. "See you around, kid."

Scowling at the new clerk, who was smiling at _him_ as if she knew something that he didn't, Akaya turned toward the entrance and began rummaging through his pockets as he went. Coming up empty handed, he flipped open his bag and pawed through the pockets and hidden flaps and then felt along the bottom, for good measure.

He'd left his money – what measly amount he possessed – at home.

 

\+ + + 

Screw the mall.

By the time Akaya had reached the bus stop, his irritation had grown in leaps and bounds and he'd spent the past fifteen minutes telling himself how unfair everything life was. His family didn't care about him – didn't care if he starved, he could no longer visit his favorite comic store because the only clerk he could stand thought he was queer and Yukimura had _yet_ to acknowledge him as the very best tennis player Rikkai could claim.

Oh, and he was pathetic virgin dork who spent all his time thinking about getting _Yanagi_ laid instead of himself.

He frowned, kicked at a rock and scuffed his shoe when he missed. "Everything sucks," he muttered, wondering if he should head over to Fudomine's side of town to start something with that hot-tempered redhead. Akaya would kick his ass, of course, but it would be fun to watch him get all flustered and out of sorts when Akaya called his captain a gimpy homo.

After a moment, though, he realized that he wasn't really in the mood to bother. He was irritated, but his laziness and shiftlessness seemed to be taking precedence, which was entirely pathetic. Akaya figured that his sister was somehow to blame. It felt good to blame her, in any event.

"Chibi," came a low, familiar voice from his left.

Cocking his head, Akaya offered his senpai a sideways glance and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Who're you calling 'chibi'? I'm as tall as you are."

Niou's lips quirked and he tugged absently on his rattail only to smooth it down again. " _Very recent_ developments don't change the past."

"Oh, yeah? Where'd you get that little pearl of wisdom? Fortune cookie?"

Niou laughed then, falling into step beside Akaya and making him wonder if they were going someplace together, now. Niou was like that sometimes – making up the game plan on the spur of the moment. "Close. Sanada."

"Che. Figures. Sounds like something my _Mom_ would say."

Humming thoughtfully, Niou grabbed the strap of Akaya's bag and let the younger boy lead him along. "I'm sure he heard it from Yukimura."

Akaya fell silent.

Turning his head aside to hide his disgruntled expression, he walked just ahead of Niou, but slowed his steps. The very last thing he needed today was to let Niou get to him since Niou's very favorite thing to do in the whole world was to dick with people. The moment he let his senpai know that he was getting to him, Akaya knew the real torment would begin.

"I'm having a shit day," he complained. "And I'm starving to death and I don't have any money."

"You're in luck," Niou told him. "There's pizza at my place. You can come and hang out."

Akaya glanced at him dubiously – Niou never offered to treat and he certainly never offered to waste a Saturday hanging out with him. In fact, it was rare to see Niou on a weekend at all when they didn't have practice or a game. He seemed to hang out exclusively with Yagyuu and they were fairly hush-hush when it came to their goings-on. Akaya wasn't bothered by this, wisely assuming that he was better off not knowing. Bunta had said once that what Yagyuu and Niou got up to when they were off on their own was illegal in some countries.

"What's in it for you?" he asked, pausing at the bus stop and glancing down the street. "You gonna make me clean your room or something?"

"I'm feeling generous," was all that Niou would say and Akaya hunched his shoulders a bit. Cleaning Niou's room was infinitely preferable to accepting his rather suspicious charity.

But then, Niou hadn't actually offered him a choice.

\+ + +

 

They didn't talk much on the way to Niou's house. They sat together in one of the middle seats, pressed uncomfortably close until Akaya wedged his bag between them. Niou's leg was hot and sticky from the humidity and he smelled odd.

That is to say, he didn't smell like Niou. Niou smelled like incense and musk and that girly conditioner he always used because he bleached his hair too often. Today, he smelled like light, clean soap – despite the heat – and nothing else.

They kept a respectable distance as they made their way along Niou's street and just as he'd begun to think Niou and Yagyuu were up to their old tricks, Niou closed the distance between them and let the backs of his fingers brush Akaya's hip. When Akaya looked over at him, Niou flashed that lazy smile. Akaya relaxed.

"You sure your Mom won't mind me hanging out?"

Niou shook his head. "You kidding? She's been on the phone with my aunt, gossiping all morning. If she asks, I'll just say you spent the night."

"Why would you do that?" Akaya asked, failing to see the point.

Niou grinned and took his front steps two at a time. "Just to see how hard I have to work to make her believe it."

He opened the door, toed off his shoes on the mat. "I'm home," he called out to nobody in particular.

"Take off your shoes, Masaharu," his mother called out and Akaya hurriedly removed his own. He tried to remember if his socks were clean, and couldn't. He blushed, hoping that his feet weren't all sweaty and disgusting. Niou would notice and would be sure to say something, the asshole.

"Yes, Mother," he said, stiff and formal with just a minute trace of sarcasm beneath it. "I'm going upstairs with Akaya."

"Hm? Oh, yes. Fine, fine." And then, as an afterthought, "Hello, Akaya-kun."

He felt like an idiot, talking to a disembodied voice, but he didn't want to offend Niou's mother. "Hello, Niou-san."

She giggled and then hiccupped and Niou jerked his head toward the steps. "Come on."

Akaya followed, watching the line of Niou's back and wondering if he'd been working out. Perhaps Yagyuu had been pushing him to train harder or something. Yukimura sure seemed to be running Sanada ragged – maybe Yukimura thought some of the guys were getting soft and was cracking the whip. He felt sorry for Bunta if that was the case.

"Wait," Akaya said suddenly. "Where's the pizza? You said you had pizza."

Glancing over his shoulder at him, Niou grinned. "It's in my room, relax."

Akaya rolled his eyes; he'd been had. "I didn't come all the way over here to eat day-old pizza crust out of a crushed pizza box you've got laying around."

Niou arched a brow. "Like you've never done it before?"

Akaya couldn't argue with that. "Well, whatever. You lied."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Niou said, pushing open his bedroom door. "Ungrateful little kouhai."

"Ungrateful?" Niou said, from inside the room. "You musta picked up sweet little Akaya, Niou-kun."

Yagyuu nudged Akaya inside and closed the door behind them. "Indeed, I have, Niou-kun."

Staring first at the Niou sprawled on the bed and then at the Niou standing just behind him, Akaya didn't say a word until his gaze fell on the crumpled pizza box and the solitary, half-eaten pizza crust that lay inside.

"You guys are sick."

"Aww, c'mon, Akaya…" Niou began, and Akaya scowled.

"You really had no idea?" Yagyuu asked, voice smooth and modulated the way Akaya was used to hearing him speak. "We've done this a million times."

Niou laughed," Yeah, my mom thought I'd gone out and I haven't left the bed all day."

Yagyuu frowned minutely. "I'm certain your mother was drinking alcohol in the kitchen, Niou."

"Well, whatever. She still thought you were me."

Akaya scratched his head and snuck another glance at the pizza crust.

No. He wasn't that desperate. _Yet_.

He turned to Yagyuu, then. "Yagyuu-senpai," he began patiently. "Your posture is still too good – Niou-senpai is like a ragdoll."

From the bed, Niou smiled pleasantly. Akaya continued. "And you don’t smell like Niou-senpai."

Yagyuu crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Akaya impassively. "Oh?"

"No. Niou-senpai smells like laundry detergent and sweaty dude."

"Hey!" Niou objected. "Are you saying I stink?"

Ignoring the interruption, Akaya went on. "You, Yagyuu-senpai, don't have much of a scent. Even when you're sweaty, you smell kinda…clean."

Akaya scratched his head, looked embarrassed. "That didn't come out right."

Yagyuu merely continued to gaze at him with that bland expression that was no real expression at all. "No," he finally said. "I think I understand, Akaya."

Barely able to resist the urge to fidget, Akaya glanced sideways at Yagyuu. It was quite disconcerting to speak to one senpai while he looked so eerily like the one sitting just on the other side of the room.

"Niou," he began, voice low and heavy with innuendo. "Always smells as though he has been engaged in – or is in the mood for – exertion of some kind."

While he pretended that his words were meant for Akaya, Yagyuu's gaze settled firmly on his partner, still stretched so languidly atop his bedcovers. The look they shared was similar in weight, heat, not-so-hidden meaning.

Niou smirked, touched his mole with the edge of his thumb. Yagyuu smoothed his rattail between two fingers, perpetuating their silent exchange and furthering Akaya's discomfort.

"Uh…," he began, although neither Yagyuu nor Niou were listening to him at this point. "I think I'll just uh, you know…go now."

Slowly – so slowly – the corner of Yagyuu's mouth quirked in some semblance of a smile and he stepped away from the door.

"Take care, Akaya," he murmured.

Niou shifted to an almost-kneel on the bed. "Yeah," he added absently. "Be careful crossing the street, huh, kid?"

Akaya let himself out with a backward glance. He didn't know what else he'd expected, to be honest. The best advice, he recalled, seemed to come from Marui, anyway.

  
\+ + +

"So, really," Marui said absently, as he pounded the keypad. "The only guy on the team who doesn't care about that crap is Yanagi, anyway."

Sitting just a few feet away, eyeing the bowl of candy that sat just at Marui's elbow, Akaya listened intently, unwilling to miss out on the expert advice he would surely receive from _this_ senpai.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well," Marui drawled, scooping up a handful of candy and executing a perfectly timed combo with only one hand. "Because he doesn't bother with girls, you know? Which is kinda weird in itself, but not something we're not used to, right?"

Before Akaya could answer, Marui spoke around a mouthful of candy, leaning forward anxiously and turning the controller sideways for some serious gameplay. "He doesn't bother with guys, either, though. Except you, I mean."

Perking up at that, Akaya leaned over to help himself to some candy. "What do you mean?"

"You stupid bastard!" Marui yelled, rising to his knees and shaking out the controller cord, as though it were to blame for the combination of punches his character had just received. "God, I hate playing him!"

Crunching quietly, Akaya held his own impotent controller and merely listened. He was determined that this awful day would yield some manner of worthwhile information.

"Anyway," Marui finally continued. "What I mean is that he's not a closet case like Sanada and he's not a walking freakshow like Niou and Yagyuu and he's not in denial like Jackal."

Akaya waited, hoping to hear something of what Marui thought about Yukimura and even himself. "What's Jackal in denial about?"

Marui snorted and reset the game. He hated losing. "Pfft, please. You've seen his room, Akaya. All those half-naked chicks hanging on his walls? Total denial."

Wisely silent, Akaya glanced around at the posters that adorned Marui's own walls – long-haired models in skimpy bikinis, leaning on cars and blowing kisses. Sassy cheerleaders in short skirts and low-cut sweater vests. Additionally, Akaya knew that Marui kept a veritable treasure trove of girl on girl porn under his bed.

"But…Marui-senpai…"

"Oh, you suck! You piece of _shit_!" he yelled at the screen again, and Akaya hunched his shoulders when Marui's mother pounded at his bedroom door.

"Bunta! Stop swearing at the television, do you hear me?"

Throwing the controller aside, Marui flopped onto his back and reached blindly for the candy bowl. "Yes, Ma. I'm sorry." He called, rolling his eyes toward Akaya and grinning mischievously.

When Marui-san's footsteps receded again and Marui made no move toward picking up the controller again, Akaya spoke up tentatively. "Maybe he just likes girls, senpai."

Marui cackled and leaned over to swat Akaya's knee. "He plays tennis, Akaya. Be real."

Blinking, Akaya said, "You play tennis, senpai. And so do I."

"Yeah, and _you're_ gay," Marui said, smiling brilliantly as though he'd just imparted the most sterling bit of genius that he was capable of producing.

"I am _not_ gay!" Akaya protested hotly.

"Are too," Marui said. "I see you scoping Niou out all the time and straight guys don't look at guys like Niou, get it?"

Akaya didn't get it. "No, I don't. I think you're insane."

"Yukimura's insane. I'm just practical," Marui said and when Akaya did not respond, he rolled to one side and nudged his friend's knee again. "Listen," he began, voice quiet and almost kind. "I see how jittery you get around Yanagi and how you pretend not to look at Yukimura when he's coming out of the shower. I see how you fidget when Niou puts his hand on Yagyuu's ass and I see how you never – and I mean never – look at the girls who look at _you_."

Looking away to hide his humiliation, Akaya bowed his head. "I wonder if Yanagi-senpai notices the things that you notice," he said, miserably.

Marui laughed. "He notices everything I notice and then the things I _don't_ , Akaya. If you've got a crush on him, he probably knows."

Covering his face with his hands, Akaya groaned. "God, I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Hey," Marui protested. "Better me than Yukimura, don't you think? He'd just tell you to stop thinking about your dick and focus on something worthwhile."

"And he'd be right," Akaya said, disgusted with the whole business and thinking that he should go pick up a girl later and just be done with it. "This is so stupid."

Marui just laughed and shook his head. "If it's so stupid, why's it got you all worked up?"

Akaya glared at him, but Marui was undeterred. Arching a brow at Akaya in question, Marui just drummed his fingers against the floor and refused to look away first.

It was no wonder that he was good friends with Yukimura-buchou. They were both kinda creepy.

 

\+ + +

Akaya knew that seeking out Yukimura and the scornful words he would likely offer on the subject of unrequited love was the closest thing to suicide that he'd ever attempted, but he was miserable – and bored - enough to try anything.

How much worse could it get, really? He had questions that needed answers and while he'd failed to actually solicit any real advice from his teammates, he felt certain that he could ask Yukimura. And if that didn't work, he'd ask Sanada. Because nothing brought clarity and a return to reality better than a good, solid backhand across the cheek.

Trudging along the sidewalk, wishing he'd nabbed a cold soda from Marui-san's well-stocked refrigerator before he'd taken his leave, Akaya headed in the direction of the school's tennis courts. On a Saturday afternoon – before the sun had gone down – there was no other place that Yukimura was likely to be.

And wherever Yukimura was, Sanada was certain to be close by.

When he'd mounted the steps, though, and began the trek across the grass toward the back of the school, Akaya ascertained that he was either very, very brave or very, very stupid. With absolutely no idea how to go about initiating the conversation that he felt he needed to have, Akaya considered the possibilities.  
_  
'So, Buchou. I think I want to date your best friend. What should I do?'_

_'Sanada-fukubuchou. Do you find yourself staring at Yanagi's ass when he bends over to tie his shoes? No? Guess it's just me, then.'_

_'Mind if I interrupt you guys for a second? I think I'm a homo.'_

To Akaya's supreme despair, none of it sounded right and – as he drew close enough to hear the familiar thwack of a tennis ball being served and returned, volleyed and smashed – his chest began to feel heavy and his stomach began to hurt. In the distance, he could hear Yukimura's raised voice – sharp and unforgiving.

"Again, Sanada! That was pathetic!"

Sanada did not respond, though Akaya could hear him grunt when he returned the ball with a resounding smack.

"Again! I'm your enemy, Sanada. Fight me!"

Completely unnoticed, Akaya crept around the side of the building as the figures of Sanada and Yukimura took clearer shape. Sanada was sweating profusely. His hat was off, his hair was plastered to his head and his shirt was wringing wet. The intense determination of his expression, however, was nothing new to Akaya.

Equally worse for the wear was Yukimura, though – to his credit – he somehow managed to be disheveled and sweaty and elegant and amazing without sacrificing any of his impressive presence. Sometimes – like now – Akaya wondered why he never thought about Yukimura the way he thought about Yanagi. He wondered if his Buchou liked girls and if he'd ever put his frightening dominance into play in a situation with a female. The thought did not excite him. On the contrary – it made his balls shrivel in something akin to terror.

"Dammit, Sanada! Stop holding back!" Yukimura growled, slamming the ball across the net and only missing Sanada's head by a fraction of an inch. "I can take it," he insisted, voice raspy now with emotion and exhaustion. "Fucking _give_ it to me and I'll show you!"

Akaya hung back – the air around his two senpai fairly crackling with pent up hostility and unspoken demand – and he watched, transfixed, as the last vestiges of Sanada's patience deserted him.

Finally, finally, Yukimura had pushed too hard and Sanada was angry.

He threw down his racket, fists clenched at his sides, and Akaya couldn't believe the tremor in his voice when he spoke. "I. Am. Not. Holding. Back. _Yukimura_."

Yukimura sneered, one hand on his hip as he tapped his racket against his shoe. "Then your best isn't good enough."

Chest heaving with barely restrained fury, Akaya watched Sanada fight for control of himself. As scary as Yukimura could be, he never looked like this – like some angry, out-of-control animal and Akaya could only feel thankful that it wasn't _him_ that Sanada favored with that particular glare.

True to form, however, Yukumura seemed unmoved. "Well?" he prompted, swinging his racket idly. "Are you going to pick up your racket and play or is this all you've got for me this afternoon?"

When Sanada did not answer right away, Yukimura snorted. "What a waste of a Saturday."

And that was the moment that Akaya would always remember as The Day Sanada Snapped. Within seconds, he was over the net and in Yukimura's face – long fingers gripping the handle of Yukimura's racket to wrest it from his grip and fling it aside.

Looking up at him – open-mouthed and silent with shock – Yukimura stopped his advances with one hand at his chest. Sanada did not budge.

"What do you think you're doing?" Yukimura asked, his voice considerably lower – though no less confident – than before.

Unable to look away, Akaya watched as Sanada stepped that much closer to crowd Yukimura and force some sort of contact that did not involve tennis. It appeared to Akaya, as Sanada gripped both of Yukimura's shoulders and pulled him closer, that the closet he'd been residing in had just become a tad too confining.

"Yukimura," he murmured, gathering handfuls of Yukimura's baggy jersey and hauling him to the balls of his feet.

"What?" Yukimura ground out, fisting Sanada's wet t-shirt between his own fingers.

They were silent for a moment, Yukimura's confusion and uncertainty hidden quite effectively with typical, confident bravado while Sanada contemplated the risk he was preparing to take.

This was way, _way_ better than some freaky cosplay.

And then – faced with Sanada's determination and unwillingness to pretend even one second longer – Yukimura seemed to tense and grow still under Sanada's hands. Finally, after years of their perfectly choreographed, carefully constructed dance, Yukimura _got it_ and Akaya could hardly believe that the captain he revered had truly been so incredibly clueless all this time.

By the time he seemed to remember that this wasn't part of the plan – and that Sanada was no longer playing by _his_ rules – Yukimura's fingers had twisted into the material of Sanada's shirt and Sanada's arms were tight and strong around him.

And they were kissing. Kissing with a ferocity and determination that Akaya had never before witnessed and had certainly never thought to witness between two boys he'd grown up with.

Most surprising to Akaya was Sanada's complete domination in the kiss he shared with Yukimura. He tilted his head, gathered Yukimura even closer against him and made the sort of sound that Marui always made when he'd tasted something particularly delicious.

Akaya backed away slowly. There were no words that either of his senpai could offer him that might convey anything more than what he'd just witnessed. And in this instance, Akaya realized that he was not prone to trespass, after all.

 

\+ + + 

 

It was nearing four o'clock when he found himself standing before the one house he hadn't thought to visit that day. His sister hadn't called him even once, the bitch.

When he'd left the school, he'd been so immersed in his own conflicted thoughts that he hadn't bothered to pay attention to where he was going.

That his feet had stopped directly in front of Yanagi's house afforded him more insight than all the advice in the world.

Akaya sighed, fidgeted with the strap of his bag and scattered a few pebbles along the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe. He couldn't think of a single plausible reason to offer Yanagi that might serve as a believable excuse for his impromptu visit.

"Akaya?"

Startled, Akaya took a step back and felt the tips of his ears reddening when he met Yanagi's gaze.

"Yanagi-senpai…"

Yanagi smiled, hefting the bag of groceries he carried. "I wasn't expecting to see you today, Akaya. Is everything all right?"

Shrugging lightly, Akaya shuffled his feet. "Yeah, I guess so. I wasn't expecting to see you either, really."

_Any more of you than I saw this morning while I was beating my dick, I mean…_

"I was just picking up a few things for my mother," Yanagi explained, joining Akaya on the walkway. "Would you like to come in?"

Nodding immediately, though he wished that he could maintain some sort of cool when interacting socially with Yanagi, Akaya stepped closer to him. "If you don't mind."

"Of course not," Yanagi assured him, leading the way up the sidewalk and into the front foyer of the house. Modest, but well-kept, Yanagi's house – his normal family – was an enviable thing as far as Akaya was concerned. "If my mother sees you, she'll probably insist that you join us for dinner."

Ignoring the surge of excitement that such a suggestion brought, Akaya nodded and followed suit when Yanagi toed off his shoes and padded into the kitchen.

"My sister left me at the mall earlier and still hasn't called to check on me. I don’t think anybody cares if I get dinner or not."

Hiding a smile at Akaya's petulant tone, Yanagi nodded sagely and deposited the sack of groceries on the narrow kitchen counter. "Lucky that you came here, then, right?"

When Akaya nodded, Yanagi smiled again and Akaya's heart began to beat fast. He took a deep breath – he had to stay calm and collected.

"Maybe you can spend the night, if it's all right with your parents. We have practice tomorrow; we could go together."

Go Together.

Akaya wiped suddenly damp palms on his trousers. "Um, yeah," he agreed. "That'd be cool."

Yanagi was silent in the hallway as he lead Akaya into his bedroom without so much as a backward glance and – once they were inside and Yanagi closed the door softly behind them – Akaya's cool deserted him entirely.

With flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Akaya could only imagine how he must appear to Yanagi and he wondered if it were within the realm of possibilities for one to die of discomfort.

Peering closely at him, Yanagi pressed the palm of his hand to Akaya's forehead – his touch was light, his palm was cool – and frowned minutely. "Are you sure you're all right, Akaya? You're quite warm and out of sorts."

Opening and closing his mouth two or three times before he swallowed hard and turned his head away, Akaya couldn't call back the words that were already tripping off his lips and out into the open where Akaya didn't want them to be.

"I was at school earlier. Yukimura and Sanada were kissing. Each other. On the tennis courts."

Yanagi blinked once or twice and then lowered himself onto the edge of his bed. He appeared unmoved by Akaya's revelation but, then, he almost always appeared that way – even when he was upset about something.

"Say something," Akaya prompted, tense and embarrassed and unsure as to how he was supposed to act now that he'd spoken of It.

"What would you like me to say?" Yanagi asked, all placidity and ease while Akaya fairly vibrated with tension. "Perhaps 'it's about time'?"

"You knew?" Akaya hissed, as though it were some monumental secret that no one should have been privy to.

Yanagi chuckled. "You didn't?"

"No!" Akaya denied, flustered and hot again. He couldn't help wondering what _else_ Yanagi knew that he didn't talk about.

"It's not a big deal, Akaya," Yanagi told him soothingly. "Do you think differently of them, now?"

Akaya frowned. If that were the case, he'd be the very worst sort of hypocrite and while he knew – without a doubt – that their relationship didn't bother him in the least, he wondered what an honest denial might reveal of himself to Yanagi.

"I thought Yukimura liked _you_ ," he said. "You know. _That_ way."

Yanagi cocked his head. "Me? Why would you think something like that?"

Akaya shrugged, sinking to the floor and pulling his bag into his lap. He felt like an idiot and feeling that way made him want to be very angry, indeed. Except that he wasn't.

"I dunno," was all that he could say, though he could have easily rattled off a dozen reasons why he'd thought something like that. "He listens to you."

"And that's why?"

Akaya shrugged again, embarrassed and disheartened. He shouldn’t have come here.

"Akaya," Yanagi called, voice soft and understanding. "Don't I listen to you when you speak?"

At Akaya's expectant gaze, Yanagi continued. "Is that the way you gauge regard?"

Akaya shook his head – just once. "I don't know _how_ to gauge regard."

To his surprise, Yanagi only smiled. "Sure you do," he said. "Whose good opinion do you covet the most?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that it was Yukimura's regard he craved, but when he opened his mouth, all that emerged was, "Yours."

Yanagi's smile – when it appeared – was pleased, encouraging.

"Do you care about mine?" he asked hesitantly, so afraid that the answer might be 'no'. "My opinion of you, I mean?"

"Very much," Yanagi assured him and though he did not elaborate, Akaya allowed himself to hope that there might be more to his answer than he let on.

"I think about you," Akaya said, unable to meet Yanagi's eyes. His voice sounded too-loud in the tiny room. "You know, when I…"

He swallowed hard, felt his face grow hot and he didn't look up, even when he heard Yanagi rise from the bed to take a few steps toward him. The air between them was thick, stifling.

"Marui says I'm…you know. Gay."

Silent for a moment, Yanagi closed the distance between them and when he knelt before Akaya, he lifted the younger boy's chin with considerate, light fingers.

"Akaya," Yanagi murmured, expression serious, gaze intent and Akaya was silent when he raised his eyes reluctantly. "I don't care what Marui says."

"He says that Niou and Yagyuu are sleeping together and that Jackal is in denial and Sanada is in the closet."

But Yanagi was leaning in close. "Shh, Akaya."

"And what about me?" he went on. "He's right about everyone else, so he must be right about me."

He gripped Yanagi's bicep suddenly – nervous and desperate and thinking that he was crazy for saying any of this. "It doesn't matter what he says, Yanagi-senpai. It doesn't change the truth."

Stroking Akaya's neck with the side of his thumb, Yanagi touched his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. "I don't mind the truth," Yanagi finally said, already tilting his head and sharing Akaya's breath. "Akaya…"

Eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to keep his eyes open, Akaya licked his lips in anticipation, grazing Yanagi's lower lip with the tip of his tongue and so, so certain that Yanagi could hear his heart pounding. "What?" he breathed, his grip on Yanagi his only tether to something solid – something real.

Against his lips, Yanagi murmured, "I don't think Sanada's in the closet any longer, mm?"

Inclined to agree, Akaya parted his lips and breathed a sigh of acceptance when Yanagi's lips pressed soft and exploratory against his own.

Wrapping his arms around Yanagi the way he'd seen Sanada hold Yukimura, Akaya led this kiss the way Yanagi had led the kisses of his fantasies and he felt like the biggest idiot in the world for being unable to understand his own desire.

Fortunately, Yanagi didn't seem to mind and had no pressing need for further clarification.

Akaya closed his eyes.


End file.
